My Imagination
by me malum
Summary: A rountine molestation, or something more? Fem!UK/France


Wow. (This isn't as bad as it sounds, by the way) but this suddenly popped into my head when I was in bed myself, trying to sleep. If I dreamt of it afterwards, I don't remember (probably a good thing).

So- Warning: **genderbent!England**,** semi-graphic descriptions**,** mild language**, **France**.

I just couldn't see this working with male!UK, thus the genderbending. Pairing is FrUk.

Disclaimer: I own nothing- actually, I own my own little bit of Arthur. Sadly, nothing more.

Enjoy- and review? Make my day? ; )

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As soon as Germany called an end to the meeting, England was out of her seat and out the door. It wasn't, she thought to herself, that she didn't _like_ the other nations (although for some, that was _exactly_ the case). More that she loathed the near-compulsory small talk that seemed to follow every meeting they had these days.

It wasn't as though she was _avoiding_ anyone. Honestly. The British Empire (_former_, she groused) avoided nobody.

She could see the glass entrance to the building ahead of her. _Nearly there!_

Just as she thought she'd make it, arms snaked around her waist and halted her mid-stride.

_Hell and damnation!_

"Why is a woman as pretty as you running, _ma petite Angleterre_?"

Angrily she struggled against his hold, only making him pull her closer. "Funnily enough," here she elbowed him in the stomach hard enough that he winced, though didn't let go of her, "I was trying to avoid situations like this." She stopped fighting and took a deep breath. "Let me go, frog."

She felt him lean in and nuzzle her neck. A blood vessel popped in her temple. "Francis..." she trailed off in warning.

"A first name basis, Alice? How very forward of you."

She probably could have kept her temper- if his lips hadn't curved up in a smirk against the line of her throat. "Wine bastard..." _Must not yell, must not yell, must not yell!_

"Pet names, _ma petite?_ I had no idea you thought of me so fondly."

It was strange- he never tried to kiss her when he trapped her like this. Even so, she felt one of his hands move down from her waist to creep under the hem of her jacket.

She tried to head butt him.

A fingertip crept under the waistline of her skirt.

"Francis."She made her voice even and summoned the authority she'd had as effective ruler of the known world and its oceans. "There is a boundary here. If any more of that hand crosses it, I can't guarantee it coming back whole and unscathed."

"But you are helpless in my arms, _ma petite_," he whispered, a second fingertip joining the first.

She snorted. Unladylike, but warranted in this situation. A third fingertip began creeping in.

She kicked backwards, hoping to hit his knee.

"_Merde!"_

England smirked. Then cursed herself as France still refused to _let her_ _go_.

"That hurt, _ma petite_. But then, I always imagined you to be wild _dans le lit_."

England hung her head and counted to ten, to stop herself going pirate on him. Then she started counting in Spanish. And German. As she got to _seiben_, the outline of a plan took form in her head; she'd tried physical violence (and failed appallingly)- so turn the situation around by another means.

"You've imagined, have you Francis?" She ignored her misgivings and leant her head back on his shoulder, grateful for once for his greater height that made it easy. "When you're lying in bed alone, you've thought of me? Splayed out on your back on your silken sheets, I've been in your mind?"

She was whispering into his ear. Her voice was pitched low, barely audible unless you listened for it.

"Alice, _ma petite, _what-"

"Because I always imagined you to be a quiet, caring, _reverent_ sort of lover. The sort who would carry me to his chamber and lay me gently down on the sheets before simply having to stop and stare for a minute, unbelieving that I'm finally there. I'd have to tug you down into a kiss, coax your mouth open with my tongue and wrap my arms around your neck to keep you there."

She realised her eyes were closed, building the story in her mind. Warning bells started ringing.

She realised also that she didn't give a damn.

"You'd treat me like a china doll, something precious, something treasured, constantly checking if I was okay with this or that and always checking before you made your next move. Before you removed that next layer of clothing."

"Alice-" She felt him shiver behind her, recognising that it wasn't a simple game of molestation anymore.

"And when we're finally naked, you would be the one to reach forwards and kiss me- you couldn't do anything else. Your hands would ghost over my skin, and I'd giggle when you got to my stomach- you know I'm ticklish there. Of course, that's when you reach my stomach- you'd always linger around my breasts, caressing and teasing. I'm the one telling you to _get on with it!_"

She smiled without opening her eyes. Francis was almost completely still, but for one hand which was drawing tiny circles on her stomach. Through her jacket and shirt the pressure was barely there; like a ghost's touch.

"You do love to tease, don't you? Once you've finished with your hands, your lips _have_ to follow the exact same path." She laughed, low and sultry. "You said you imagined me wild in bed? In my mind, it's because you do the little things that _make_ me that way."

England paused and took a deep breath, wondering how far she wanted to take this. She felt, rather than saw France's gaze stuck on the movement of her chest as she exhaled again.

"And then you're finally where I want you to be- kneeling before me with my legs on either side of your hips."

His other hand trailed down her side to rest on _her_ hip.

"But you have to get me ready to _your_ standards. I'm restless as you slip one finger in, then another, testing me. I have to be a perfect fit for you, the perfect sheath, hot and silken, softer than the sheets you've laid me on."

She undulated her spine, making a breathless little sound that prompted a quiet moan from him. He was as caught up in her fantasy as she was, she could tell.

Her voice was barely a whisper when she continued. "And _finally_, I'm perfect for you, and you pause for a second longer before sinking into me. And I moan, long and loud, because it's what I've been waiting for since we started. The two of us together in something better than warfare, something that can mean so much _more_. You're still quiet, but I only need to look into your eyes to see what you're feeling. What you're _really_ feeling."

Alice sighed and opened her eyes. She turned in Francis's suddenly slack arms and pressed the softest of kisses on his lips. She pulled back and gave him a smile caught between sadness and hope.

"At least, that's how I've always imagined you'd be." She dropped her gaze and placed a hand over his heart, smoothing down his coat there. "So if you're going to pursue me, Francis? Don't disappoint."

Before Francis could get a word out, she spun on her heel and walked away.

And Francis, frozen to his spot in surprise and yearning (which surprised him in and of itself), could only stand there and watch her go.

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Finite- and any comments are welcome. Thanks for reading!


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